STRONGER THAN PRIDE
by K.Eliz
Summary: For Earl Ragnar, winter solstice is bittersweet.


**STRONGER THAN PRIDE.**

 _ **A/N: Story takes place a few years after Lagertha and Bjorn left Kattegat.**_ _ **Feedback is always appreciated-**_

It had been a busy day in the Great Hall.

Neighboring traders were passing through town in search of Kattegat's best whetstones and ivory. Half a dozen land disputes had been settled, and a larger-than-usual supper was prepared to observe winter solstice.

Earl Ragnar had given it his diplomatic best all day, but he was in no mood for any of it.

Ragnar's former slave-turned-friend, Athelstan, walks into the dining hall late that evening just as the last of the servants exited after cleaning what had been a well-worn event. Striding toward the back pantry in search extra skins for what promised to be a bitterly cold night, he notices the Earl. Ragnar sits in the corner of the room, leaned into a makeshift fire pit. He watches the former monk move in his direction, and isn't sure he feels like acknowledging his presence.

"Still here." Athelstan notes aloud, making up Ragnar's mind for him.

Athelstan approaches his mentor, but does so gingerly.

He knew his friend well enough to know that all was not right with him today, and he knew the reason why. Winter solstice had always been particularly special for the family, but these days it was bittersweet. Today was Ragnar's eldest son Bjorn's birthday. And for the third year in a row, he was not with his son to celebrate.

Ragnar doesn't look up from his hands, which are pressed together for warmth, but also as an area to concentrate the restless energy.

"Sit, Priest". He finally murmurs.

After several moments of silence, Athelstan weighed the idea of offering small talk of the day's events against Earl's questionable countenance.

"Do you wish to be a father one day, Priest?"

Caught off guard, Athelstan shakes off the forwardness of the question and attempts to search his heart for a genuine answer.

"Being a father takes leadership yet I have always been a follower. I'm not entirely sure I have what it takes." He continues. "To mold a young life, it probably takes…"

"Patience." Ragnar interjects. "And understanding."

He turns to look at his younger friend for the first time. "Who possess such qualities more than you do, Athelstan?"

Athelstan, flattered, sits down next to the Earl and warms his hands near the fire. He already knew Bjorn was heavy on his mind.

Witnessing Ragnar adjust to his new life, including the estrangement of his first-born, had been as inspiring as it was heartbreaking. Even casual observers understood how close the father and son had been. With two new sons to occupy him, Ragnar was visibly content with his young family. His sons with Princess Aslaug truly brought him the joy that alluded him in the early days after the harrowing separation. Yet, it was bittersweet. As much satisfaction that Ubbe and Hviserk gave him, their innocence and laughter reminded him of his elder children. And nothing could ever fill that void.

"I remember the day he was born." Ragnar mused. "Mid morning, in the cottage."

Athelstan speculates that this would not be much of a conversation. He also senses that Ragnar might allow himself a sentimental memory of his first family. Tonight it seemed he would not play the humble advisor, but instead the captive audience. Besides, with the fireside setting, story time seemed appropriate.

"You know she could never sit still. Determined to help with the farm, even with a full term belly." He shakes his head. "Sure enough, as soon as she went into the coop to feed the chickens, she came back with a cloth wrapped between her."

Athelstan's expression blanked involuntarily.

"Her water, Athelstan. The water surrounding the baby breaks when it's ready to be born."

"Ah yes." The younger man nods. Partly in understanding, partly in appreciation.

But it's Ragnar's candor that's really distracting the former monk. It had been years since Ragnar mentioned Lagertha from his own mouth- despite the near certainty by Athelstan that the Earl's first wife remained a fixture in his private thoughts.

"I worried the baby would break her." Ragnar lets out a slight chuckle. "But, the time had come and we needed to be ready."

"Did you not seek help from a midwife?"

"Midwife?" Ragnar huffs. "I'm a farm boy."

Athelstan correctly infers that Ragnar meant that his history of witnessing the births of baby goats and horses fully qualified him to deliver a human child. Meanwhile, Ragnar smirks with recollection; quietly amused that his track record of recklessness dated as far back as this.

"And Lagertha had strong faith." He offers. "Faith in the gods, and…" He pauses, slightly crestfallen. "…In me." He trails off, eyes fixed on the flame.

Ragnar allowed his mind to wander to years ago when he and Lagertha were newly married. Preferring to spend nearly every breathing moment together; they built their home, grew their harvest, and tended to livestock. Being together had always been their way.

When they were not hard at work, their evenings were spent sharing their dreams of knowledge and adventure. They trained each other for battle. They laughed and played until their sides hurt. Occasionally, their competitive natures flared into fierce feuds- yet they could be sure the night would be filled with the intense passion that came with making up.

So in truth, Ragnar knew he wasn't leaving Lagertha's side for a second, not even to find a midwife. They purposely made their home in the hills because every moment needed to be theirs and theirs alone. The birth of their first child would be no different.

"Was it a fast birth?" Athelstan asks, jolting Ragnar out of the memory.

"Ahhh.. she labored for… for a couple of hours." He responds stroking his beard with a furrowed brow, now narrowing his focus to the actual delivery. "Not so long as average, I reckon." He pauses thoughtfully. "I did not like feeling helpless."

Athelstan quietly imagined a young inexperienced Ragnar faced with the impending birth of his first child. He knew the Earl to be a tactical genius, there was no denying that. But he also knew that some of Ragnar's worst decisions had been made while feeling helpless.

"Best thing I could do was to make her comfortable..….whatever that means for a girl in labor. Tea for her…mead for me." He snickers. "And I prayed, of course. Even set up wind chimes." He air-gestures to invisible wind chimes. "Anything that would calm her. To calm both of us, really. We were young."

Ragnar is drawn back into the memory as he remembers Lagertha's slow, methodical breathing as she lied in their bed. Unconventionally, he spent most of the time lying in bed with her. She was positioned on her side while he lied behind her; his free arm gently rubbing her belly. He whispered words of encouragement in ear. He kissed her face and neck. He wiped her tears. He recalled the urge to make love to his laboring wife, in that moment. Realizing of course, that he could not, but it was what he knew could provide her comfort. Or, at least a distraction. He'd felt the need for a distraction himself. Witnessing the person he loved more than anything in the world stir in agonizing pain- even for the birth of his child- was quietly killing him.

And the fact that he'd just allowed his mind to acknowledge all of that killed him in the present.

"Yeah. I didn't like feeling helpless." He repeated. "But the last moments were rushed." Ragnar's face animated as he explained the business of delivery.

"I remember this like yesterday."

As Ragnar excited, Athelstan wondered if his friend remembered that he was still in the room.

"All of a sudden Aga screamed. And I mean, like I'd never heard before. She knew the baby was coming and there would be no more delay."

Now fully adrenalized, Ragnar had not realized he'd defaulted to the pet name only he'd used for Lagertha for all their years together. At this, Athelstan immediately scanned their surroundings for what he was certain would be an empty bucket of mead nearby. It took only a moment to find it. And the one behind it.

"Not even time to get her on all fours" Ragnar continues. "Instead she turned on her back, propped herself up on her elbows…" Reenacting the movements with his upper body.

"And I reached in to guide him out with my hands. The slippery little bugger." Ragnar beams in recollection.

"What did it feel like? Being a father?" Athelstan probes, encouraging the emotional purge.

"There is no prouder feeling, my friend. None. But at the time, just hearing Bjorn's cries was the best music to us. And then, when I saw the boy parts…I felt like I needed to hand him off to her quickly, I was too excited." He pauses to check for Athelstan's hollowed expression.

"Because babies are very small and fragile, Athelstan."

"I realize." He says, nodding along. Truly understanding his meaning that time.

The two men sit in comfortable silence as Ragnar's head swims; at last feeling the intended impact of this drink. He wonders if this is what is meant by 'healing'. Maybe it was the mead dulling the stinging pain in the pit of his stomach that always accompanied the thought of them. Maybe time is the healer.

Or maybe this winter solstice came with a promise from the gods; the mere thought of pure happiness could overpower a broken heart.

END


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